Most people who saw it just assumed it was some kind of old military souvenir or a cheesy sentimental trinket. To me, however, it stood for a promise made during one of the darkest, most terrifying nights of my life, a promise I had carried through every job, every move, and every passing year since coming home.
When General Henderson finally stepped up and asked where I got the band, I told him it had belonged to Sergeant Isaac Burton. The mention of the name immediately caused his expression to tighten because he told me that the official personnel records showed Burton had been killed before the extraction team reached them during an ambush in Afghanistan.
I shook my head and quietly corrected him.
I told him that according to the books, Burton might have died before extraction, but the reality on the ground was a hell of a lot different. He died after we made it out, and that distinction mattered because I was the one holding him when he took his last breath.
The correction clearly hit Henderson harder than I expected. Instead of moving on with his day, he started scanning my face more closely, and his eyes shifted from the bracelet to the deep scar near my jaw, the jagged burn marks on my wrist, and the hitch in my walk that I had spent years trying to downplay.
